If You Could See What I See- Rehab Week 6
by Voyager Tip
Summary: A missing scene that happened 6 weeks after the judge found Mark at the bottom of the ravine. I figured he would need a lot of time to recover from his injuries and the severe exposure and a lot could have happened during those weeks. Just a bit of fluff for a little variety.
1. Rehab

Ch 1 Rehab

Milt Hardcastle pulled the truck over to the curb and stopped, prepared to wait as long as it took for his curly haired passenger to climb out. Mark McCormick moved slowly and methodically as he exited the vehicle, then, once he had the cane in his hand properly and was stable, he turned and spoke.

"It'll be at least an hour, don't rush, I can sit and wait for you if I need to."

"Okay," Hardcastle said and slowly pulled away from the curb. He would have preferred to wait until Mark was inside the Therapy Center, but felt that his friend needed this small bit of independence. It had been a long time since he'd been allowed to be truly alone to do something, even if it was just walking into the Center.

It had been 6 weeks since Mark had been shot and left to die at the bottom of the ravine. He'd spent the first 10 days in the ICU and the next 10 days getting strong enough to be discharged. He was still living in the main house with Milt, sleeping in Sarah's old quarters off the kitchen. Hardcastle had seen a big improvement over the past week. He was feeling particularly satisfied with Mark's recovery and planned to grill some steaks out on the deck for supper as a surprise. It was obvious that Mark still had a lot of healing to do, but up until this week, he'd had a lot more difficulty moving around.


	2. Prognosis

Ch 2 Prognosis

As Mark finished the last exercise, he stared at John, the Physical Therapist."I need to ask you a question John," he said before the man could turn away.

"What is it?"

"When can I get back to work?"

John paused. He'd been asked this before and had always hedged a bit. The truth was that it was hard to say exactly, and he knew his patient wanted an exact answer. Truth be told though, this was the first week that Mark had seemed well enough to listen to the reality of his condition. Most of his energy up until now had been spent just getting through each day, and thankful for each small bit of progress.

"Well, you've made a lot of progress since my last evaluation a month ago," John began. He paused, "I know you want me to say you'll be fine by next week, but it's gonna take a little longer than that. The plan is to keep things the way they are, therapy 3 times a week, and keep doing the exercises on your own in between times."

Mark's face fell. "For how long John?"

"I don't know, it depends on..."

"I want you to tell me!" Mark raised his voice. "Tell me something! Give me an estimate!"

"It depends on what you want to do Mark," the therapist said quietly.

Silence.

"How long until I can run, dodge bullets, tackle somebody and beat em in a fair fistfight!"

John's jaw dropped, "it'll be quite a while before you can do that," he answered.

"Define 'quite a while.' "

"Three months, probably."

"How long before I can clean gutters, mow the lawn, trim hedges and spread mulch?" McCormick's tone continued to be intense.

"Probably 2 months, 6 weeks maybe," the therapist adjusted his estimate based on Mark's hostile glare.

McCormick had been leaning forward as he spoke. Suddenly, he sat back and winced. There was silence.

"Listen Mark, you really are making good progress, it's just that a body can only heal so fast. I mean, if you wanted to go back to work at a desk job part time, you could shave a month off that, maybe more."

Mark sighed sadly. "I know, it's not your fault.


	3. Casting Doubt

Ch 3 Casting Doubt

Mark leaned hard on the cane as he walked slowly out of the Center and over to a bench in the shade to wait for Hardcastle. It had been hard to hear the truth from John, but, he was glad to finally have some sort of time frame for his recovery. He hoped the judge wouldn't be too angry that it was taking so long, it wasn't like Mark could control it. He was doing everything they told him to do, so hard that they sometimes had to tell him to back off.

"_No"_, he thought to himself, the judge would understand. He wasn't sure what he'd do if the judge didn't understand. Then he shook his head, Hardcastle had been amazing during this whole ordeal. From the minute he'd found him lying in that ravine, through his time in the hospital, and then bringing him into the main house after discharge, Mark had been the center of his attention. It had actually been a bit embarrassing at first, but gradually, over the weeks, Mark had gotten a bit used to it. No matter what the problem or obstacle, the judge had always been there to help.

He sighed and glanced around, appreciating the sound of the birds and the smell of the freshly mown grass. It was good to be alive.

"Hello McCormick, fancy running into you," the voice of Judge Gault still gave Mark the shivers after almost 3 years. He could never quite forget how hard Gault had tried to send him back to prison.

Mark looked up at him, "judge," he acknowledged.

"I heard about your accident," Gault answered.

" How would you hear about that?"

"It's general knowledge, in my circles. Where are you living now?"

"Same place as always," Mark answered in surprise.

"Really?" Gault seemed surprised as well, "I thought Milt had a one month rule? Well, that's what the word's always been."

"One month what?"

"If one of his ex cons needed more than a month to recover from an injury, that he'd cut him loose and find another ex con. It's not like they're hard to find." He paused, 'it's been longer than that since you got hurt though, hasn't it?"

Mark didn't answer him.

"Well, maybe he's decided to extend it. Anyway, I'll see you around McCormick," he finished and turned. As he walked away, a smile flickered on the ugly face. "You don't call me a cheater and get away with it," he whispered to himself.

Mark watched him go, a sinking feeling in his gut. He knew Hardcastle didn't even like Judge Gault, so how could he know anything about what Hardcastle was doing? On the other hand, they were both judges, and judges and ex-judges did have gatherings from time to time. He knew they had talked about him at least once, because Hardcastle had told him that he'd enjoyed rubbing their noses in his success. Maybe, back at the beginning, the judge had made some off-hand comment about a one month rule, but it couldn't still be true after everything they'd been through together, could it?

He knew in his logical brain, that Hardcastle wouldn't just 'cut him loose' for getting hurt, as Gault put it, but now that the idea had been voiced, he couldn't help a sliver of doubt from sinking into his gut. Sure, they were close, really close friends, but that didn't necessarily mean that Hardcastle would put up with a long recovery period in his home. And his parole was almost up too. Hardcastle wouldn't want to support him after his parole was up either, no matter how close they were. He was a grown man, and he should be able to take care of himself.

The internal argument continued, with Mark finally whispering to himself, "this is ridiculous. He's the best friend you could ever have, what Gault says doesn't matter, he's nothing to us. Less than nothing. If I can't work, the judge won't turn me out in the street."

He took a breath, feeling much better. Unfortunately however, it's very true that once a sliver of doubt is felt, no amount of logic will make it go away. Logic doesn't help. The doubt, however tiny, just sits in a corner of your mind and waits.


	4. The Ride Home

Ch 4 Ride home

Honk, honk.

Mark looked up to see the truck next to the curb. Usually Hardcastle would get out to help him, even though he didn't need it. But now, he just sat there, waiting for Mark to rise and walk to the truck. It looked like the whole chauffeur thing was getting old. And it did make sense for Hardcastle to have some kind of rule about the time it might take for Tonto to recover. Maybe it wasn't a month any more, but they were coming up on two, and between his knee and his shoulder, Mark was nowhere near being able to go back to work, not even yard work yet.

He stood up and walked to the truck as quickly as he could.

H&M

Milt pulled the truck up to the curb, surprised that the kid didn't acknowledge it. He stared at Mark for a moment, concern in his eyes. The kid seemed to be deep in thought. He reached down to open the door and then stopped himself. Mark had just told him this morning that he needed to back off so things could get more back to normal. And really, what could happen to him between the bench and the truck? So he made a decision, and tapped on the horn. Then smiled as Mark stood up and headed toward him.

H&M

"How was therapy?" Hardcastle asked as he pulled out into traffic.

"Okay," McCormick answered. Usually he made a comment that it was the same as always, or some other meaningless conversation, and Hardcase would say it was hard to see progress when you looked every day, but that he was doing better every week. Today though, Mark's mind was on other things.

"Something wrong?"

"No, what could be wrong?"

"I don't know," Hardcastle answered. There was something definitely wrong with McCormick.

"I'm just tired, I guess John gave me more of a workout than I thought," Mark used the convenient lie, "sorry."

Hardcastle paused, he knew what McCormick was like when he was tired, and this wasn't tired. He decided to change the subject. "I got some steaks to grill tonight."

"Sounds great."

The rest of the ride was silent. Milt hoped that the kid would tell him what was wrong. It was hard to see him upset, especially since he was doing so well this week. He deserved to feel some happiness, God knew it had been a long time since he'd looked so good.


	5. Steaks

Ch 5 Steaks

Mark McCormick placed a pillow on the hassock and then eased himself down into the chair. He lifted his leg slowly and settled his knee on the pillow, then leaned back and closed his eyes. It had been 2 weeks since his knee surgery, and elevation and ice were the only things that truly helped it after the therapy sessions, but he'd forgotten to stop at the fridge and get a bag of ice on his way in. He would have to do without it until he felt like getting up.

"Here you go kiddo," Hardcastle said from the door, tossing a filled ice bag onto the bed within easy reach.

Mark opened his eyes and looked at the bag, then up at the empty doorway. The judge was already gone, off to start supper he supposed.

He set the ice bag on top of his knee and shook his head. Hardcastle was probably the crustiest and strictest person McCormick had ever met. And yet, he was also one of the kindest and gentlest too. He felt very lucky to have gotten to know him. He'd often wondered how he had gotten so lucky, and he'd never actually come up with a reason. They were good together, that's for sure. A good team in catching criminals, and good friends too. They had supported each other through thick and thin, but even though he'd helped the judge out a lot, and had even saved his life a few times, in comparison to what Hardcastle had done for him, it seemed insignificant. He gazed out the window toward the ocean and sighed, he definitely had a lot to be thankful for.

He must have dozed, because the next thing he heard was the call to supper. He pulled the quilt off as he stood up, embarrassed to realize that Hardcastle had spread it over him while he was asleep.

"Come and get it!" Milt repeated as he carried the steaks in on a big platter and set it down in the middle of the kitchen table. He glanced toward the maid's quarters, though he now referred to it in his mind as Mark's room, and was gratified to see the kid making his way down the hall slowly, but with relatively little difficulty.

"Smell's great!" Mark commented as he sat down. He smiled as he started helping himself. Hardcastle sat back and watched Mark fill his plate with an amused expression that some might have mistaken for contentment.

"What's the occasion?" Mark asked, "you finally get those Lakers tickets?"

"Nah, I just felt like celebrating the fact that you're gettin better. Maybe someday you'll be able to get out of here, eh?" Milt said offhandedly.

The doubt came crashing down hard. It was a moment before Mark could answer.

"Yeah," Mark answered uncertainly. He started to cut the steak, but he wasn't thinking about the food any longer, his brain was in overdrive. He'd been living in Hardcastle's house, since leaving the hospital, 3 weeks now, and the outpatient knee surgery 2 weeks ago. It wasn't surprising that the judge would want him out; would want the house back to normal. He only hoped that he'd still be able to stay in the Gatehouse.

He could probably handle the stairs in the Gatehouse now, he should start trying the stairs tomorrow. He'd thought about it before, but being in the main house had been so nice that he hadn't wanted to think about moving out yet. It was comforting really, no stairs to worry about, and the bathroom was close, but mostly, it was comforting because he knew the judge was always nearby.

He'd also thought about the chores, but had managed to convince himself that there would be no consequences for his not doing the chores. Now, as he sat quietly, thinking about the judge's remark about him moving out, he realized that talk about the chores couldn't be far behind. The only problem was that he couldn't do the chores yet. Sure, he might be able to do some of them, but for most of them he'd need two good arms and two good legs and he just wasn't healed enough for that yet.

"Hey, McCormick?" Hardcastle's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You okay? What's wrong?"

When there was no response, he spoke again. "Hey, why aren't ya talkin?"

Mark glanced down at the tabletop, afraid to meet Hardcastle's gaze.

"If something's bothering you, spit it out!" Milt's annoyance came through in his tone of voice. He hoped the kid wasn't saying he didn't want to stay here any longer. He wasn't ready to go back to the Gatehouse yet and this was the best Milt could do for him. He leaned back in the chair across the table from his friend and waited.

"I guess we shouldn't pretend any more, huh?" Mark began after a long pause.

"What're you talking about? Pretend what?"

"You're a by-the-book kind of guy."

"Nothing gets by you McCormick," Hardcastle teased, but when the other man didn't respond with an insult, he became serious. "What's going on inside that head of yours?"

Mark took a deep breath. "Our agreement is that I help you get the bad guys, and in between cases, I work on the estate."

"So?"

"So I can't work, and I probably won't be able to for," he paused, "you'll get the report soon enough. He'll re-evaluate me in another month. Even then…" Marks voice broke and he cleared his throat.

"I just need to know… when do you want me to leave?"

"LEAVE?" Milt stood up as he shouted angrily, this was beyond belief. "I don't want you to leave!"

"You can't expect the next guy to want to share the Gatehouse, and I can't stay here forever, so, eventually I'll have to find an apartment. I just wanna know when." Mark stared down at the table.

Hardcastle spoke forcefully. "There's not gonna be anyone else kiddo. The Gatehouse is yours for as long as you want it."

"What about our agreement? You were just talking about me getting out of here some day."

"That? That was nothing….can't I make a simple comment in my own house without you thinking I want to kick you out? All I want you to do is get better!"

"It didn't sound like that to me," McCormick whispered. "You don't have to backpedal now judge, I understand, anybody would want things back to normal."

"Is that what you really think of me? After everything?" Hardcastle raised his voice, "you really are an idiot, aren't you!"

"You're the donkey who does everything 'by the book'. I'm just trying to cope." Mark paused and then continued, "I know I'm already past the one month rule, and I appreciate it judge, really, you've been great. But I have no right to take advantage of you any more."

"The one month rule? What the heck is that?"

Mark stared at him, "I don't blame you for it judge, it's okay."

"What is it you're not blaming me for?" Milt shouted, "you better come clean with me hotshot!"

"I saw Judge Gault today, outside of the Center. He told me about your one month rule."

Silence.

"That lying, conniving, scum! Why would you believe anything he says?"

Mark's shocked expression cut into Milt's heart.

"He lied?"

"Course he lied you idiot!"

"But he's a judge… John said 2 months until I could do yard work, and 3 until … Gault lied?" Mark looked up at the judge.

"So you finally got an answer from John about going back to work?" Milt asked thoughtfully. That explained a lot. "It's gonna be awhile huh? Did you think I'd be mad?"

"Uuuuh, well, maybe…. just a little," Mark admitted.

"Well I am mad, but not at you! One month rule? Give me a break! And of course I want you out of here," he continued, "I want you to get better that's all!"

Hardcastle paused and forced himself to calm down, "I want you here with me, for as long as it takes, and not in the Gatehouse until we're both sure you can handle it. That's all I want."

Mark smiled in relief. How could he have doubted the man in front of him.

Then Milt started again, "after all we've been through together, how could you possibly have thought that I'd just… toss you out? Even you're not that stupid!"

"Are you really sure judge? I know how much trouble this is, and I am a lot better now..."

"Oh will you just stop it before I put you back in the hospital!" Milt yelled, raising his fist. "Honestly, do I have to spell it out for you?"

Mark shrugged, not sure how to respond.

"You're my family McCormick! Okay? Ya got that? And I'm not gonna kick you out! I'm just gonna take care of you. Period. Okay?"

Mark's voice wouldn't work, his throat felt closed up. "Okay," he whispered finally, relief so evident in his voice. Then he smiled and gave a short laugh, "okay."

Hardcastle sat back down, a little embarrassed after his outburst.

"I just don't see how two people who are so smart can have so much trouble communicating," Hardcastle offered.

"We could always blame Judge Gault," Mark offered.

"Yeah. We should blame him, sure, but we should also think of a way to get even." Milt answered and they both began to smile as the wheels started to turn.


End file.
